“Hubris” of Spiritual Practice

      In reading Surangama Sutra’s chapter, “Dangers May Arise with Advanced Practice” (p.391-395), I am struck by the parallels between the idea of demonic obstruction in Buddhism and the Greek concept of hubris, or human pride. Pride is not an inclination that is widely discussed in Buddhist texts; in fact, greed, anger and lust are more often described in Buddhist commentaries. I wonder to what extent we can attribute or link the concept of hubris to the notion of self, or ego, that is found in Buddhist commentaries. How might pride fit into the Buddhist cosmos, if at all?

In Surangama Sutra, it is remarked that many practitioners who are at a very advanced stage in practice become “satisfied with a small accomplishment” (p.391), leading to false claims about spiritual attainment. I wonder why this happens, though. Is it because spiritual practitioners might sometimes desire honor and fame that they would make such claims? I think it might go deeper than that. For example, practitioners might want to simply rest in the attainment of a certain stage simply because it feels good to be there. When a person is in a peaceful place, they might even legitimate that state by saying to the world that they have “made it”, and there is no further growth or learning expected from them. I feel that this is one of the dangers that the Greek figures and heroes in mythology often succumb to, which is the complacency that sometimes comes from being admired by others. The other factor is that people often reinforce (mutually) the fame and status of another person, leading to a trap where a person does not experience limits in their life, or might even be insulated from hard experiences.

Spiritual practice can fall into the same traps as worldly life, because there is a tendency for people to get stuck in familiar identities which are reinforced by social arrangements. In situations where one’s pride is challenged, they have this opportunity to realize that it’s not necessary for them to hold such a rigid identity in order to survive. But the barrier of fear prevents people from letting go of the power and privilege they have based on their reputation or attainments.

Surangama Sutra: A New Translation (2009). Buddhist text Translation Society

Learning myths with young students

 I have been thinking about the spirituality of the Greek mythological tradition, particularly around the notions of hubris and respect for cosmic order. I have to say that it can be harsh reading some kinds of Greek mythology, because you feel as though you are in an action movie with all the violence and gore. But I think that there is a certain beauty in the idea that the world can be considered an expression of a natural order. When something goes in one direction, it needs to turn in the opposite direction, and indeed there is a certain beauty to this idea.
   I am not sure whether Greek mythology could form the basis for a working adult spirituality, but somehow it does appeal to children and it seems to lay a groundwork for how children can made decisions ethically or even think about what a good life is, who is heroic and so on. I think it's also worthwhile for adults to definitely explore the kinds of stories that form a mythical backdrop, since the characters of mythical stories do often reflect forces or energies inside of a person. Exploring a particular theme or figure that resonates with a person can be most helpful, and it is something I am considering to do as well.

Time Flies

 I have recently switched to a 5 day work week, and am noticing how time goes very quickly when there is a flow of different things to do. I believe that although this can seem tiring, it's the kind of life that I like to have. I do believe that there are both times of activity and inactivity, and both offer equally valid points for reflection.
   A life of being in the flow is a life of community and reflection. I have been thinking recently of how much of a gift it is to be able to work, and how work itself is part of being in a cosmic flow with other beings. What would the world and life be like if there were no opportunities for a person to be needed in that flow of things? I do believe that there is definitely a sacredness to work life that taps into the universal flow of life, and I can't help but want to participate in that flow. Being challenged and facing new projects is not a "punishment" from God as some would suggest, but on the contrary is what allows people to reflect deeply on themselves and their dynamics. It also teaches people valuable lessons in humility (knowing that we can never do anything alone, and cannot take credit for it either); seeking help when needed; learning from others; the value of thinking as a conscious effort; and intentional curiosity, among other qualities.  Work is such a beautiful gift-and I believe that the best society is one that allows everyone to work.
   I think that when time is flying, it means that things are going well. It entails that one is no longer living by the clock anymore, but has gone beyond it in some ways. I hope that all people are blessed to have times in their lives where time itself seems to stop altogether.

Hubris as "Cosmic Relief'

I am reading about the Greek concept of "hubris" in Luc Ferry's The Wisdom of the Myths. On page 211 of this book, Ferry describes how, unlike the Christian concept of sin which is often focused on personal faults, hubris is more concerned with meting out punishments to ensure that a cosmic order and harmony is preserved. Presumably, if the punishment does not sufficiently fit the crime, disorder would naturally result. As Ferry remarks, many of the Greek myths center around characters such as Prometheus who, through the mistake of overconfidence or pride, overstep their place in the universe. The result is the wrath and eventual brutal punishments from the gods.
   I tend to think of hubris as "cosmic relief" from a psychological point of view. After all, can you imagine a universe that has no limits whatsoever, and a person can simply become whoever they wanted to be? Not only would such a universe be a bit boring, but it would also lead to a lot of anxiety, because one is no longer limited in their actions. It would be something like having this huge blank canvas that continually allows you to write over it, but then erases it almost instantly afterward, leaving no traces: almost like a giant Etch-a-Sketch toy. With hubris,on the other hand,one is reminded that there are limits to what a person can do, and overstepping one's boundaries does lead to felt harms and emotional distress. However, this does not mean that one is eternally damned! That would be a little bit overboard. It means that some kinds of regret might be healthy ways of recognizing that actions do have consequences, and there are always things we can learn from in mistaken actions. I take it that none of the stories in Greek myths are ever literally real, but instead, they suggest metaphorical relationships.

Ferry, Luc ( 2014 ) The Wisdom of the Myths: How Greek Mythology Can Change Your Life. New York: Harper

Putting Spilled Milk Back into the Glass

 The title of this blog entry comes from a similar vignette in Terry Orlick's book, where he talks about a young student who became upset when she spilled a can of paint on the floor. Orlick advises the distressed student that the paint cannot be put back into the jar, so why fret about what has already happened? Accidents can happen as quickly as one split second, and there are moments when a person simply does not have the time or even the awareness to stop something from happening when it does. Yet, as typically does happen in these cases, the person has plenty of time, it seems, to keep going back to the same situation to see if they can put the paint back into the jar, or the spilled milk back into the glass.
   When something painful happens,  such as an accident or something unforeseen, it's fine to logically think about what one could have done or could do better in the future. However, what I sometimes think this situation calls for is a kind of presence of mind that neither goes back to the past nor tries to rush into an imagined future where there are no spills or accidents whatsoever. One has to be strong and present to the situation to be able to face it wholly, rather than putting all their energies into a fictional time when everything is completely fixed. In working with the energies of regret and disappointment, we learn to live with such feelings without fueling the kind of aggrandizing thoughts that come in their wake. For every regret or disappointment, there is a kind of semblance of omniscience: thinking that our stories should never contain accidents, as well as a desire to make sure there are never any opportunities to feel such things again. Now, is that realistic? I say perhaps not.
  As Orlick suggests, the best a person can do is to accept the fact that the paint and the milk are already spilled: trying to put them back is counterproductive and does not reveal a key lesson, which is how to remain resilient in these times or situations. When I can really know that hearkening back to the past is no way to handle the present problem, I have more energy to face the problem now and try to do something to make it better. But that doesn't mean trying to get things back to the way they were before.

Orlick, T. (1993) Free to Feel Great: Teaching Children to Excel By Living.

Side Streets

  Walking home from work today, I decided to take a slight detour onto a sidestreet on the east side of Yonge, on the way to Steeles Avenue. I was attracted to a sea of green that I had never seen prior to this particular walk, and found myself in a kind of abandoned park with a narrow trail of gravel and dirt running through it. Eventually, I was able to use that trail to make my way to the shopping centre at Yonge and Steeles. All the while, I kicked myself, thinking, "I have been taking the loud main street for all this time--and, after two years, here I am discovering the side street!" Why, indeed, didn't I know about it sooner?
  I am not just talking about literal side streets anymore. Side streets are often symbolic detours, where a person reaches the same destination in possibly (but not always) the same time, using a route that few people even know about. It takes a bit of courage to even find the side street: for example, part of me wanted to save time and just use the main road to get to the shopping mall and have my dinner before going home. However, curiosity and a willingness to be open overrode this imperative to be "on time", and I ended up enjoying the side street all the more. The point is: detours may take longer and might even disappoint a person's hopes or expectations, but they often teach people more things and allow them to see otherwise hidden worlds.
   How can I use this idea in my life? Another question is: how can we know when a detour is working for us? I would have to say, everything has a middle point. Too much detour becomes a problem in itself, leading to a life without focus or even a goal. But too little "detouring" can lead to a very rigid, tense mind, one that is calculating or monitoring itself to see whether it's doing what it "should" be doing. Such kind of self-restraint might make a person a champion of taking cold baths, but it doesn't always make them happy or pleasant to be with. This is because they don't have a relaxed or open way of looking at things, and might even find themselves falling into the trap that there are objective, external standards that everyone is meant to follow: the symbolic "main roads", which in fact always seem a bit too jammed with people and their emotions.

Bittersweet Flavor of Autumn

   Fall leaves always signal, at least mentally, a bittersweet impermanence. During the meditation session yesterday morning, that feeling took the form of the gentle crackling of the leaves outside, as well as that pile of leaves that greeted me at the doorstep of the Chan center.  It also took the form of the sound of a single bird flying outside the Chan Hall---a raven or a crow, perhaps--which heralds the eventual migration of birds and the end of the summer season.
   I have to say that in spite of its intimations of impermanence, fall is my favorite time of year and also one that is evocative of my childhood. I am especially fond of October, for several reasons. When I was very young, I often felt a sense of shock that school is starting in September, and October was the time when things started to settle down within me mentally, and I knew that I was going to survive. It still happens for me to this day: September being a time of violent transition while October being the month of "accommodation", when things start to feel more settled, crisp and clear.  The other aspect I like about fall is the harvest colors: the gold of pumpkins, the fiery reds and yellows of the leaves, and so on. The appreciation I feel is bittersweet: I want to hug these fall colors into my body and internalize their warmth and comfort, but even the leaves themselves are destined to lose all their color and decay back into the soil, as winter spreads its fierce coolness.
   The other thing I like about autumn is Halloween. I don't attend Halloween parties these days, but when I was in grade school, Halloween was a time when students bonded with each other by creating haunted houses, dressing in costumes and sharing horror stories, and even creating these stories. I think I will try to do the same this year with the Grade 4 students, to have them create their own spooky stories. Two of my favorite writers, Ray Bradbury and Edgar Allen Poe, are "Fall" writers to me. They are best read under a tree of crisp red leaves. Again, Halloween reminds us of the underside of things: twilight, death, the moon, the turning of things from one state to another. All of these are gentle reminders not to cherish beauty too tightly but to be prepared to hold it lightly in one's hand and to let it just follow its natural course from birth to flowering, to decay and death. Even decay can be beautiful and joyous, and this is what occasions like Halloween and Day of the Dead can teach us.
  Fall can teach a person a lot about how to behold their life. I consider it the most philosophical season of all. I hope you can enjoy this season with me.

Learning from Myths

 Learning about Greek myths is not just about fanciful stories. It is also looking at the human dilemma. As I am preparing my lesson plan for the upcoming Grade 4 class, I am taking a hard look at what Greek mythology can contribute to children's lives and development.
  One theory about the value of learning Greek myths comes from Luc Ferry who, in his book, The Wisdom Of Myths, suggests that mythologies teach children about a harmonious order in the universe, sometimes referred to as "chaos". On top of elaborating the creation stories and ideas about how the gods and goddesses came to populate the world, Greek myths articulate the role that humans play in the world. As Ferry puts it, the question related to humans is "How are men (sic) going to insert themselves into this universe of gods that does not seem, in any a priori sense, to have been made for mankind?" (p.32). What impresses me about this question is how it transcends the actual narratives of cosmos and order that pervade Greek myths and stories, suggesting instead an underlying sensibility of paying respects to the various forces that govern the human world. According to this view of mythology, the world is depicted as peopled with different forms so that we can learn as humans to respect our place in the world, to "know ourselves" and thus, in doing so, know what is apportioned to us in the universe. If I overstep my bounds by trying to aspire to unrealistic dreams, I am "punished" through a negative consequence--which might, in modern psychological parlance, be something like melancholy, narcissism, or any number of disorders that separate people mentally from the world they live in and create great amounts of anxiety. If, on the other hand, I am clear about what I am able to do in this moment and stick with what is workable to me, then the result will be the "reward" of harmony with the cosmos: the gods look to us well, we have good affinities with different powers, and we are supported by the forces around us.
   I have to admit that, while this kind of moral universe is good to introduce to children, one also needs to develop critical acumen not to take the mythological order too literally, particularly as a way of asserting the supremacy of a "natural" world order. We all know the consequences of such an idea, including oppression of people throughout history. On top of this, once the students do reach adolescence, they will for sure start to challenge the notion that there are actual "natural" limits to human endeavors. Existentialism, a philosophy which many are introduced to in their senior high school years, eschews the idea that there is a fixed world view that forces people to behave in a certain way. However, I have to admit that the Greek mythical world order does have parallels with that of other religions, including Buddhism (which is both religion and philosophy). While Buddhism does not talk about a world order, it does talk about karma, and the respect for an orderly universe might parallel the attitude of contrition that Buddhist practitioners show toward their teachers and the bodhi mind as well. "Knowing one's limits", in this case, might certainly refer to knowing that one has Buddha nature but is "not yet" a buddha, and hence needs to take their place in practice rather than outstepping their bounds. I quite respect Greek myths as a kind of moral education for young people, although what I most appreciate about it is the way it symbolizes struggles that many people face in their lives.

Ferry, Luc, (2014). The Wisdom of the Myths: How Greek Mythology Can Change Your Life. New York: Harper Collins

Acceptance Therapy

In the book Siddartha's Brain, James Kingsland devotes a chapter to various kinds of therapies that have been inspired by Buddhist teachings and practices. One of the most intriguing models I have come across is something that has often been referred to as "Acceptance Therapy". The tenet of acceptance therapy is that one learns "to allow distressing emotions, thoughts, and sensations to come and go without trying to fight them, suppress them, or run away from them" (p.132), which might in a way be considered the essence of mindfulness. How does such a therapy work, however? Does it mean simply accepting whatever thoughts come to mind? It's more than this: it means not identifying with the thoughts themselves; not saying, in other words, that this thought is "me", and thus not indulging particular thoughts. Kingsland distinguishes between a "doing" mode of being, which emphasizes "automatic" responding without awareness, and a "being" mode, more akin to mindful awareness, where one is able to "experience thoughts and feelings as transient phenomena" (p.131). It's only when I am not attached to my passing thoughts or moods that I am not compulsively doing things to try to regulate or control such thoughts. An analogy might be that of standing before a whirpool rather than being absorbed into it (ibid).
   A lot of acceptance therapy meshes with the ideas of Silent Illumination. Silent Illumination emphasizes seeing the whole without trying to grasp at the parts. When I am attuned to totality, there is actually nothing to grasp, not even totality. Then my mind is free to pick up something and put down as needed, and it is not clinging to any conditions. The difference is that Acceptance Therapy uses this principle to get patients to engage in what is called "metacognition", which is thinking about the process of thinking. When I am attuned to the way my mind is tossing and turning in all sorts of crazy ways, I become less invested in the thoughts themselves. It is almost as though there is a kind of ironic detachment being cultivated here, although Silent Illumination isn't performing any kind of reflection. To the contrary, contemplation is a kind of knowing without judging or evaluating the ways one approaches experiences.
  I think that in order to really practice this kind of therapy, a person does need to commit to some sense of wanting to change. Being mindful is certainly a tool, but I also think that a person going through this therapeutic process needs to have a plan or a concrete thing that they would like to improve or do better on. It also helps to have a social model, such as a teacher or a person to look up to. The danger I see with this kind of therapy is that, when taken alone, it might start to lead to self-deceptive ideas, such as allowing every thought to be entertained without principle, or even daydreaming at the worst. Some Buddhist practitioners also succumb to a false idea that because everything is "only a thought", then there is no point stopping behaviors from arising since everything is created by the mind. But this is precisely wrong because it only reinforces compulsive behaviors that lead a person to seek treatment in the first place. If I am doing this practice on my own, I won't have people to look up to who can help me see where I might not be engaging the practice correctly. \

Kingsland, James, (2016). Siddartha's Brain: Unlocking the Ancient Science of Enlightenment. New York: Harper Collins.

The Changing of the Guard

The meditation was literally "silent" today, as I was the only attendee for group practice. I was somewhat relieved that I didn't need to lead, since I was feeling a need to simply sit and settle my mind. I valued that experience very much, because I do believe that being comfortable in one's solitude is a very key aspect in being available for others.
   I was reading an article today where they interviewed a famous celebrity who later started to become more isolated and secluded as his career was starting to decline. Part of the article was a kind of chicken and egg exploration about why people fall from a place of opportunity to one of seclusion. One key conclusion is that this particular actor had a reputation for being abrasive and difficult to work with, often ending relationships with snide remarks or very cynical put downs. Eventually, as this habit progressed, this actor found himself not getting many offers for jobs, which only exacerbated his sense of being out of touch with the industry and envious of his old fame.  While the article and interview paints a dour picture of a man who is too sensitive to criticism yet conveying a "don't give a damn" attitude (a complicated but all-too-human paradox), things get complicated here. Part of this story may very well be, as it is written, a kind of cautionary tale about the effects of creating negative karma. One conclusion is that negative karma isolates people in ways that make it difficult for them to re-enter social circles and contribute to communities or trades. But what I find compelling about this article is that there always feels like something deeper behind this voluntary or not-so-voluntary seclusion, something that goes beyond karma.
    I like to think of it in this way: for the first twenty years of one's working life (if they're lucky), a person learns to establish their name and identity as someone who is competent in certain areas. I know lots of people in my workplace who are the "designated something", whether it's the Excel expert or the person who knows how to remove paper jams, or the English wiz, etc. Part of the process of becoming a fully functioning, connected and social person is this apprenticeship period where we try to demonstrate as best as we can (under the circumstances) to prove our values and worth to others. This is an extremely important phase in life, and I believe that failing to achieve a certain felt sense of value in a community can result in all sorts of mental turmoils in later life, including depression or being haunted by self-esteem or fear. But as a person starts to reach a certain age, they might realize that what they have achieved is now being sought by others who happen to be younger than them and in just as much need of validation and recognition as themselves. At that time, the older person needs to make room for the up and coming generation, and might even start to feel themselves being squeezed out by newer organizational cultures. The way a company or business is run in one generation will be drastically different from another simply because technologies change, our education changes, and our ideas change as well. It's no wonder that sometimes a person who made her or his way to the top of a certain career might feel confused or befuddled when the things that made them successful in one generation are no longer guarantees of success in the present.
    Sometimes, to go back to my earlier example, I have a feeling that when people find themselves more isolated than before, it's not just because of the social circumstances or because of faulty decisions which derail them. While I do believe that these two factors do contribute to decline or alienation, I also have another hypothesis: namely, whatever we build up in life always has a polar opposite within. If I am a very brilliant scientist, for example, my polar opposite might be a person driven by the arts instead of scientific methodology. When I devote myself to one kind of success, another part of me gets suppressed or even bent out of shape. I wonder if sometimes the rage a person might feel when their career is being sidelined is really the expression of a suppressed energy in themselves that never had the chance to be expressed, due to fear of losing one's place in the pecking order. As soon as that pecking order starts to disappear or we find ourselves falling, all that suppressed energy gets expressed as anger. The anger is not necessarily a reaction to something in the environment, such as getting fired or being replaced by someone else. Rather, it's the expression of a disowned self that is not developed precisely because a person is devoting themselves to one way of being. Because that self has suffered so much disuse, its expressions are often awkward, socially inept or even inarticulate.
   I can't help but attribute this famous actor's incoherence to the expression of a part of himself he was never allowed to express and never practiced expressing, because the social milieu would not allow it, and would not accept him or forgive him for it either. It seems important in these troubled times for people not to be mocked or jeered because they no longer stand for who they were or were "best known as", but rather to try to see what this new side of themselves is trying to express, however awkwardly or (heaven forbid), differently. This is the time to accept new parts of ourselves that don't fit, as well as to accept unconventional aspects of life rather than trying to pathologize those aspects. How many times do I read news stories where a person's "bad" (read: misunderstood) behavior is attributed to "narcissism"? "Oh, he or she is just so in love with themselves". But when you really reflect on it, most people are deeply in love with their thoughts, views and ideals, even when they pretend that they are being open minded! There has to be a deeper explanation to a person's garrulous behavior besides the obvious labels or classifications. I challenge the culture to look a little deeper when they see someone who appears to be falling by the wayside in life...perhaps even falling into something daring and new.

Cutting Depressive Thoughts

 How do we know when to cut depressive thoughts and when to allow them to happen? Isn't that a funny question? Although it sounds strange, I have found from my own experiences that we often feel we deserve to be sad when we are truly sad. It's as though there were some evolutionary advantage to depressive thoughts that necessitates dwelling in that place for as long as we can until we can "soak in" in the unique lessons that it contains. While some of this might be true or even validated by science, I am not so sure if it's necessary to stay in a depressed state for very long. Solomon, in his book Noonday Demon, reminds readers about recent hypotheses which view depression as a survival mechanism that ensures we do not keep repeating the same destructive patterns again and again. What better way to do so than to make a person too sad to enjoy or even perform their regular routines? That's the (un)power of depression, alas.
    I think that when a person feels paralyzed by a mood of numbness or despair, that's a sign that they need to examine their thinking to see what is taking them to that place. Some psychologists focus on self esteem and the need to feel competent or to develop self mastery over certain disciplines (see Basch, 1988, p.29). But when a person is really feeling down (as everyone from time to time does), it might not be helpful to focus on trying to get a person to perform competently in that moment. After all, their energy may be so consumed in self-downing or nihilistic thoughts that they hardly have the energy to sustain a competency in some favored pursuit or hobby. Instead, in those particular moments, it might be more helpful to focus on whether or not these thoughts of worthlessness are really helping a person. Are they actually true? Or are these thoughts merely serving to make a person immobilized?
   Our experiences with other people can teach us a thing or two in this area. Often when a person is feeling despairing about something they are not particularly proud of or might have "screwed up" on, they are so emphatic about that particular shortcoming while downplaying things that they are able to do. In these situations, it's impossible to convince a person that they have values which outweigh the thing they think they did so terribly. But it is possible to say, "well, even if this were true, what or who is it serving?" Simply dwelling on a negative experience does not make it better or "redeem" a person. On the contrary, it often conditions a person to become immobile and passive when in fact there are many choices available for that person to enrich their life and those around them.
   The idea that feeling bad is a way to eventually feel good may have come from an early form of "accidental" conditioning which goes something like: if I look sad or blue, eventually someone comes over and comforts me or gives me attention. But of course, this is not at all necessarily the case, and a better idea is for a person to find ways to self-soothe in those difficult moments rather than looking to others for affirmation. If I cling to the idea that my depressive mood will eventually lead others to care for me is also a rude awakening: most people do not want to be around depression that much that they would want to take care of it, on top of which they may have their own depressive episodes to deal with. Here, the important thing is to recognize the emotion and why a person is sustaining it, as well as to ask whether doing so is really productive or not.

Basch, Franz Michael (1988). Understanding Psychotherapy: The Science Behind the Art. San Francisco: Harper Collins

Solomon, Andrew (2001). The Noonday Demon: An Atlas of Depression. New York: Simon and Schuster

Times To Act

 I am impressed at the way, in my recent learning of Silent Illumination method, I am no longer thinking of it as a passive practice which involves only sitting and "observing". In act, Silent Illumination offers many affordances for activity. Why or how so? Rather than being a method of focusing on a simple object of awareness, this method encompasses real action, because it is responding to continuous changes. If I am not sticking to my thoughts all the time, I have much more space to do things productively, perhaps not getting so stuck on different meanings I assign to things. In that sense, as long as I am doing things that are benefittng others, then there is no reason for regret.
    But this "doing" is a bit tricky, isn't it? It's tricky because in today's world, there is a tendency to equate doing with speed, with results, with doing things quicker and walking faster than those around us. When I equate doing with quantity, I have a tendency to let go of the silent aspect of Silent Illumination, and then doing becomes a way to block contemplation. One can also do by non-doing. How so, you might wonder? When I choose to refrain from doing something that is harmful to myself or others, then this non-doing is a form of doing. It's often the case that we equate doing with something tangible, but mindful non-doing is also a kind of clear doing.
    Knowing what kinds of "doing" to engage is central to the Silent Illumination practice. When I am clear, the two terms, do and not do, are just coming from the same principle and energy, so there is not even a need to prefer one over the other. Even one's mistakes or failures, when seen from the perspective of mirror mind, are not obstacles to peaceful being.  This is because I am not attaching a tangible identity to what I do or don't do.

not labelling

In practicing silent illumination, it seems easy to get caught up in a tendency to label the situations and emotions around us, since emotions are tied into cultural and historical narratives. If I am educated in a Freudian psychoanalysis, I will label my emotional complexes differently from, say, a behaviorist psychology. Are the labels and explanations we assign to our experiences actually “real”? They are meant to create insights, but they don’t necessarily mean that states of mind or emotion are permanent. Sometimes the tendency to overthink or over-label can create situations where we think something is real and has to be “dealt with” in some way.

What if we are able to behold our pain without labeling such a pain? This is an important question. After all, the tendency to label things often comes from an idea of control. As a person educated in a certain language and set of cultural theories about how things are, I suffer the anxiety and fear of losing meaning and losing self if I simply see things without labeling them. In addition to the anxiety of losing cherished objects and having to face undesirable ones, I suffer from the fear of having no narrative or sense of meaning to fall back on if my mind is open and not labeling anything. I have to admit that this “life without labels” seems like a very advanced stage in Silent Illumination practice, particularly in daily life. At best, what I seem capable of is being able to see the totality of my emotions rather than just getting stuck on one emotion. Rather than obsessing over narratives about why and how suffering arises, it might be important to see that suffering in a shifting context of totality.

Silent Illumination and Contemplation

 During the Silent Illumination one day meditation retreat today, Venerable Guo Sheng emphasized the importance of balancing silence and illumination. I find this to be such an impressive metaphor which helps me to understand these two aspects as "wings on a bird". It also helps me to gauge whether I am swinging too far in one direction of "silence" or the other direction of "illumination".
  Sometimes the method of Silent Illumination might seem like sitting and just watching one's wandering thoughts. This isn't quite the case: if this approach were as simple as watching thoughts arising, it wouldn't be very much different from what people might normally do when they think or engage in discursive activity. Contemplation, as Guo Sheng Fashi mentioned, is not about thinking of something or treating it as a kind of static object; rather, it is more like a knowing which transcends subject and object. To put it simply, I know that I am breathing without necessarily having to analyze into which lung or part of my body my breath will go. In other words, contemplation is not about analysis, but more a kind of non-grasping knowing.
  When people normally engage in thinking, they are trying to grasp and give rise to agitated thoughts. One of the study group participants yesterday remarked that it's the difference between simply seeing a red sweater and then remarking on whether one likes the color red or not, or whether the sweater looks good on the other person. These latter statements are ruminations on what people are seeing, and they lack the simplicity of "just seeing". Similarly, many people go into stories about how they are attracted to one thing and repelled by another, not realizing that these stories come from grasping attitudes, not from things themselves. Even as simple a statement as, "boy, that ice cream looks so good; I want to buy one" is not a statement of objective truth, but more like a kind of reaction that comes from a grasping attitude. My sense of who I am comes from liking the ice cream or disliking the fact that I don't have one yet. What would happen if one were to simply look into the process of craving without spinning into stories about liking ice cream? This is where contemplation is different from analytical thought. Whereas the latter builds upon assumptions about what the self is and where it's located in space and time relative to something else, the former simply sees things as they stand in that moment, without trying to construct some kind of unnecessary bridge between self and other. Contemplation is a kind of knowing but without the need to grasp, define or divide.
  Another aspect of Guo Sheng Fashi's talk that impacted me was the idea that Silent Illumination acknowledges all things as parts of a greater totality. This is tricky: it's not about having an idea of "unity" (such as seeing everything as a picture). Rather, it's more about letting go of whatever comes up in mind thus allowing the phenomena to be seen as a part of a changing scene. How one practices this is even trickier, because it's not even about having an idea about totality. Totality itself is an idea that limits what a person can see because it is only one among a multitude of thoughts. The real totality is letting go of all concepts to know what is continually arising in mind at every moment. This is extremely hard to do because my habitual identity is to problematize dislikes (to make them seem like problems to be fixed) and to sentimentalize likes (to embellish desired things). These concepts clutter the mind and create very complicated relationships with things. Letting go of the habitual tendency to grasp, control and direct likes and dislikes is one of the key points about Silent Illumination.
 
 

Anxiety and Being Present

 Quite often discussion groups are an opportunity to observe when I am using "silence" and "illumination" together. According to Chan teachings, Silent Illumination refers to a kind of combined practice of stilling the mind (samatha) and illuminating what's around us (vipassana). Generally, people are usually on either one side or the other: either they are too silent and reach a state of torpor or too "illuminating" (read: too distracted) of the things around them. When I am attached to my thoughts, I am not practicing silence. However, conversely, if I am attached to emptiness, I am not able to truly illuminate, and I end up being like a log, not really engaging my practice in the world.
   Anxiety is a good example of "too much illumination" and not enough stillness. When my mind in discussion groups races around worries about whether I provided good questions for reflection or am contributing to the group, I end up panicking over something that is not at all dangerous. If I start to withdraw from the discussion altogether, I am still in some ways driven by the phenomena. This is much like someone who tries to block sounds by putting on headphones. Even though this person seems serene when there is no sound, they will only be more agitated if they are forced to take off their headphones. This is an example of getting too attached to stillness.
   Anxiety can be best dealt with by being mindfully present, both to the anxiety as a sensation and as thoughts coming to mind. The thoughts are like bubbles: one can certainly see those anxious thoughts arising, but is it necessary to attribute the thoughts to an anxious self? A lot of people make the mistake of thinking that because anxiety arises in mind, they are therefore "anxious people", and this makes them give up even the prospect of seeing things calmly or clearly. But this only seems to start an endless cycle of thinking that I am at fault for being anxious. By illuminating the anxiety, I intend to see it for what it is without adding a sense of self to it. This is an important aspect, because if I start to think there is a self who is anxious, I create a story around that anxiety rather than seeing it as an impermanent state, just like others. More "samatha" can calm an over anxious mind, providing it with stability to see anxiety for what it is.

Desire and Suffering

 Watching Master Sheng Yen's video tonight on different kinds of grasping, I started to reflect on how all the things that people want in life can (and do) become forms of suffering. How to reverse that? I don't think it's possible for people to deny that they have wants; after all, we are born in human bodies and are thus subject to the kinds of suffering that come from having a body. But it's important to recognize through a kind of awareness when grasping becomes a form of suffering. If I am vying for a special position at work that is given to someone else, I will suffer from that aspiration. If, on the other hand, I decide that I just want to use that position to benefit the company with what I can give, then my orientation is away from the self.  I can even feel happy for the person who gets the position, since she or he is more qualified to fulfill the same goals that I want to achieve for others. Of course, this approach is not that easy, but it's worth it to try.
   I was particularly moved by Master Sheng Yen's idea that even gaining what a person wants leads to the suffering of having to maintain that want or even developing more "offshoot" wants in response. Two examples I can share; when a person achieves a certain state of physical comfort (such as lying snug in a comforter on a winter day), is it not the case that getting out of that comfort becomes extremely painful? Even the slightest inconvenience of going to the bathroom will jar on the person who is snug in bed! The other example I will share is that of a person who gets a promotion at work. Although this person might begin with a sense of joy, later they might start to believe that they can or should be able to achieve even higher or greater results. Gone is the sense that any achievement is going to have difficulty and uncertainty. A person who is always succeeding in gaining approval from their peers or bosses risks losing the sense of uncertainty and struggle that always accompanies fulfilling one's goals. It's as though one expects to succeed at anything they do without any such accompanying struggle...and this is a form of suffering even greater than the struggle itself! Think about it: if I am struggling to win a sport, at least I am buffered from loss by the awareness that it's a struggle, and there is always going to be a loser in the game. If on the other hand, I am under a belief that this goal should not have to take a lot of work from me, then I am succumbing to a temptation to expect results without even putting any effort into it. I believe that this is a form of suffering which overlooks the role of difficulty in everything one strives to do

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LnRm4hiAVwE

no regretful thinking

Sometimes we have to learn from our mistakes. I notice that when I am at work, I often learn a lot of valuable lessons simply in the process of being with very talented people, and I can only be humble to them. It is also a good reminder that we are always in the process of becoming based on the people with whom we associate. It is more of an honor to be with them, and it helps to see it in a positive way that one can always learn from others.
   From this perspective, however, there is no such thing as a final resting point where I can say that my learning is finished. Nor can I even say "I did everything I could". However, it's important not to get into the mental trap of "if only I didn't do so and so, then this would not have happened." The reality is that it did happen (whatever it is), and note the emphasis on the past tense. The fact that it did happen means that it can't be reversed. This is so important, because a lot of times, regret is based on a fantasy that one could reverse something that happened the way it did for significant reasons.
   After all, if something doesn't happen for a reason then there would not be any sufficient means for it to happen. But if there are sufficient conditions, then of course, it will start to emerge. It's important to go back and wonder with curiosity and exploration why the thing happened as it did, but not to do so with a sense of regret. Regret doesn't help very much, because again it's based on the false notion that we can reverse time. In reality, time cannot be reversed, and we often aren't even aware of the consequences of certain actions until they arise.
  Can we learn from our past? Yes, I believe so, but in this entry I am emphasizing the importance of doing so with the right attitude. Feeling painful about what has happened is only going to make matters more depressing, since it is not coming from a place of really accepting what has happened with all its complex reasons. In exploring such reasons, we learn to let go of the need for a perfect past. Things happened for complicated reasons that are often beyond our imagination or thinking at the time.

Our Suffering "Stories"

 I find it interesting that Buddhism does not have a story about "origination". Whereas some religions offer a story to describe the fall of humanity or how (and why) human beings came to know suffering, Buddhism does not try to look for a temporal origin of suffering. As Master Sheng Yen notes in Tea Words Volume II:

The Judeo-Christian religions talk about Genesis as a time when everything began, but Buddhism sees time as without beginning or end, and sentient beings have known suffering since time without beginning (p.32)

I am reminded of how we often try to look for the underlying "beginning" of our suffering, much the same way as a forensic scientist might look at the scene of the crime to see who is responsible or who perpetrated the action. While it's certainly important to establish responsibility for one's actions, it's equally crucial not to get so attached to the stories themselves, particularly if they serve to polarize people into "villains" or "victims". When one gets caught up in the mindset of trying to establish these two roles, they often end up exacerbating suffering. It contributes to a mindset of self-righteous indignation or even a nostalgia--a longing for a golden time when there was no conflict or suffering.

What does a person do when they get caught into the mindset of looking for the cause of suffering in something specific (a person, place or thing)? I think it's helpful to reflect on what Buddhism refers to as time being "without beginning or end". When I can conceive my suffering as part of an endless cycle, I am no longer trying to grasp the cause of suffering by focusing only on one spoke in the wheel. It's counterproductive to do so, because that spoke in the wheel is only on in a series of endless cycles. But does this lead to a sense of hopelessness or pessimism? On the contrary, it demands that we look to the mind that is not involved in this endless miserable cycle.

Each time a person is caught in their ruminations on "who did what" or "whose fault is it", they have a choice: either follow the thoughts to their conclusions or see beyond thought itself. I am much more interested in the latter, since the former often leads to a very tight, constricted mindset as well as a drainage of energy. If I am always looking for the culprits of my suffering in the phenomena themselves, I am putting all my energy into things which never had any permanence to begin with, and my mind gets stuck. Whatever it is that I worried about is already gone: the conditions have changed to something else, so why dwell on that particular configuration of things? When I cultivate such a mindset, I realize that any number of dilemmas can arise in human existence, and there is no sense in quibbling over who is right or wrong when that too has passed.

Many people might see this attitude as too passive: not getting anything accomplished or addressing the problems of life. I see it differently: the goal is not to do something at all, but rather to have an insight into the real sources of suffering, which lie in one's state of mind. When I get too attached to what I want to happen or insist on happening (as though this were an ultimate goal), I lose sight of what is happening and even what is beneficial about what is happening. I lose sight of the present, even overlooking my own suffering when I insist that things go only one way, not other ways. I give others very little room to have their own experiences, because I am looked into this idea that everything should be exactly as I want it to be. Such an idea eventually leads to a mentality of having to manipulate others into getting what I want! But this only leads to distrust and more suffering, because people no longer believe that others respect them; it is all just a game for people to play to get the things they want.

When I am able to see that all sentient beings suffer from being on a wheel, I have room to be more compassionate, and to realize that everyone is on the same boat, regardless of philosophic outlook, temperament, skills and so on. In this way, I lose the ability to be flexible. Alas, that is sad that I am so rigid in my thinking.

Sheng Yen (2013), Tea Words Volume II. Elmhurst NY: Dharma Drum Publications

More about Karma

 I have been thinking about the notion that everything that happens to a person is really the result of their own karma, whether skillful or not skillful. This idea can sometimes lead to the mistaken view that when negative things happen to a person, they are being 'punished' for their previous actions or thoughts. In a way, this is a kind of anthropocentric way of looking at an otherwise very natural process. Thoughts simply "catch up" to a person, eventually leading to either wholesome or unwholesome actions. It's not even necessarily a case of blaming a person so much as it is to know what happens when certain kinds of thought habits are fed. An example might be that of dwelling on what the "crowd" thinks of a person. If I am attached in my heart to gaining praise and avoiding criticism or disdain from others, my result will reflect that attachment: I respond to every situation out of a fear of being disapproved, and out of a craving for approval. While this might work to one's favor for a while (by allowing a person to become skillful in gaining approval) eventually this strategy ends up failing: nobody is popular or liked all the time. In fact, being admired becomes nothing more than a straight-jacket if it locks a person into a state of expecting admiration in the future. The more often I become attached to admiration, the more I crave it in the future and the more sensitive I am if such admiration does not come to me in the future. This is karma at work, because it shows the way the mind is ensnared in its own delusive attachment to states of being that are not permanent.
   "Health" is another example of something that seems like a good thing to have, but can eventually lead to attachments and negative karmic results. For example, some people will spend a lot of money on potions or medicines that are designed to keep them young (or supposedly), only to find later that they cannot sustain such a project forever. There is no special surgery that is going to keep a person permanently young. I even read a story about a person who wanted to make himself look like a doll, only to find that the repeated surgeries were causing him to lose his nose (yes, literally, the doctor said that his nose would collapse if he had another surgery). Such kinds of surgeries are like going against the natural course of things.  Even when one's physical health is good, there is no guarantee that their mental health will be the same. In Tea Words Volume II, Sheng Yen remarks:

From the moment we are born, the threat of illness hovers over us. The person who has not suffered illness has yet to be born, and only after death does illness cease. But the lives of sentient beings are also marked by mental affliction. (p.32)

In other words, nothing can be sustained forever, and the desire to keep something permanent can also lead to mental states of affliction that are even more painful than physical ones.

   Does any of this sound too pessimistic? The point I want to make is that it's healthier to see karma as a pure form of experience from causes and conditions, rather than assigning labels like "punishment" or "blame". There are two reasons for this. The first is, owing to impermanence and the nature of cause and conditions, it simply makes no sense to dwell on blame: things are changing all the time, and time waits for no one. Secondly, the whole point of karma is not feeling unworthy or "bad", but to ask oneself what they can learn from their mental conditioning. If I am suffering because I badly want to stay young, is that suffering eased by trying harder to stay young, or is there something about my mind's attachment to an idea that leads to suffering?  If I am addicted to being "approved" by eyeryone, does that benefit others, or does it only cause me more suffering? The results I receive ask me to continually re-examine the state of my mind to see where I am getting stuck.

Sheng Yen (2013). Tea Words Volume II Elhurst NY: Dharma Drum Publications

The Man with the Stone Shirt

I was reading an interesting memoir by Robert A. Johnson called Balancing Heaven and Earth, where he recounts how a heroic journey has to shatter the inner tendency to isolate oneself from criticism and doubt, as symbolized by the story an old man who is wearing a stone shirt. The stone shirt, for Johnson, represents the choice to hoard up of one’s psychic resources (or genius) to protect one’s personal self, as opposed to sharing one’s resources with the world. As Johnson remarks:

When each of us gets in touch with our personal genius, we can apply this power for the good of humankind, or we can take this power and use it egocentrically and thereby accumulate a stone power shirt around us that leads to total and absolute isolation. Our story informs us that it is expressly over the area of one’s heart that this stone barrier occurs: it is a shirt (p.152).

I found this passage (and the accompanying story which Johnson relates, derived from the Paiute tribe in the southwestern United States), to be quite illuminating. It highlights how easily it is for people to become fixated on a search for a pain-free existence, only to result in a kind of isolation or clinging to self and its powers. Perhaps this is a symbolic tale representing the ego. In another passage of the story, this old man represents not wanting to be vulnerable or humble to criticism. The old man is guarded by a multi-eyed antelope who is so sensitive to any kind of movement that it protects him from any kind of harm.

This story made me reflect: where does a person draw the line between learning from the past and not closing themselves off from all possibility? What I find sometimes helps is to know that we are always holding a space for both the light and the dark aspects. A tendency such as introversion can be both insightful for the greater good and leading to excessive isolation. If I am aware that all tendencies have both light and dark aspects to them, perhaps I am less attached to one area or another. I am able to honor the way that all aspects of ourselves can be used to benefit others, and there is nothing that is completely bad or terrible if it is treated in a way that is non-grasping.

To use a simple example: having an artistic ability can allow a person to create wonderful experiences for other beings. On the other hand, it can also lead to a more isolating tendency, such as a pride in one’s ability which cuts oneself off from receiving feedback from others or even growing and learning from the work of others. In spiritual practice, this might also take the form of becoming overly attached to a sense of “achievement” in practice, such as attaining very lofty states of being or seeing oneself as “already enlightened” so no further growth is seen as necessary or possible. This leads to a kind of stifling of the mind.

What is needed in these situations is to put oneself in the opposite place or not really knowing anything. After all, one can be proficient in an endless variety of abilities, but does that mean one knows who they are and why they are here? Exposing oneself to unresolved questions and even knowing how little one knows, can be very eye-opening experiences which help our souls breathe and give us mental space to behold wonder and mystery. If one can see the world and themselves in this way, they are freed from fixating on the need to protect themselves from the pitfalls and uncertainties of growth and maturation.

Johnson, Robert A. (1998). Balancing Heaven and Earth: A Memoir of Visions, Dreams, and Realizations. San Francisco: Harper Collins

Seeing the Body's Moments

 There is a certain beauty to be found in just harmonizing with our bodies rather than seeing them as obstacles to meditation practice. Last night's meditation felt burdensome to me, and it was only in the second half of the sitting that I was able to create some movement in my abdomen to allow certain sensations of spaciousness to open up. Today, on the other hand, I felt much more relaxed, perhaps because I am getting closer to the end of the week. In any case, it's important to observe one's rhythms and go through them gracefully rather than trying to pathologize certain body states.
   I was once reading about a famous singer who complained of many ailments, leading one of her closest friends to eulogize, upon her passing, that she was never fully comfortable in her own skin. Is this a normal situation? I believe so, but as one of the meditation facilitators shared after sitting tonight, even "body" is a certain kind of habituated thought energy. My not feeling at home in the body could be the result of many different thought patterns, including the tendency to compare different bodily states, the tendency to prefer or to idealize one state over others, and so on. If I am not attaching to these bodily states, are they considered so bad or harmful? All of this really depends on one's attitude, especially if they are trying to make enemies with their conditions or are lovingly befriending their conditions.

Meditation and Taking Classes

 After the meditation group sitting this evening, we talked about the idea that there are three kinds of enjoyment: sensuous, meditative and "true liberation" which is enlightenment. The sensuous part of enjoyment might also entail, to some extent, the ability to feel happy about one's goals and accomplishments. In the video we watched prior to the sitting, Master Sheng Yen had shared that people often become attached to their accomplishments, yet this attachment brings about a sense of dissatisfaction. After all, whatever I do accomplish, I am going to feel that there is someone else who can accomplish more than I can, and thus this can lead to a disappointment or a lack of fulfillment. I had asked the group, in light of my own journeys as a student, is there a way to look at taking courses "meditatively" as a present moment experience, without exerting the pressure to succeed or the fear of not succeeding?
  The answer is of course one can: so long as a person is in the present moment and respecting the process of doing something, then there is simply no limit to what a person can do, because one is not getting exhausted trying to "accomplish" anything. This is the meaning of some Chan statements like the way is not difficult so long as one does not pick and choose (see https://terebess.hu/english/hsin.html).  This amounts to saying that when our mind is not fixated on our reputation or sense of relative success in term es of other people and their perceptions, then our bodies and minds can be light while doing what needs doing. If I am taking a course with the unrealistic (and somewhat counterproductive) idea that I will win a Nobel Prize for giving good insights in my assignments, then everything will feel a bit burdensome to me. But if on the other hand, my focus is simply on the present moment and what I can learn based on the material at hand, then even if there is nothing tangible, I can still treat it as a valuable experience in itself. The practice itself is none other than to let go of these self referential markers which cause us to feel either "better' or "worse" as a result of what we do.
 Another aspect is to ask the question: am I taking this course with an attitude of comparison, or do I see it as a contribution to others' learning? The latter view is more relaxed, because it allows me to contribute without measuring how much I do compared with others. I also develop an attitude of doing what I can but not pressuring myself to stand out in any way. Can I apply such an approach to my upcoming online course in fall? I certainly hope to try.

The Deeper Wisdom of Our Responsibilities

 Most people see that the purpose of their life is to fulfill a series of predefined commitments, roles, responsibilities, etc. This view about life does fit very well with a Confucian view, where people are realizing their own benevolent nature through the fulfillment of their relationships in life. While I think these relationships are important, I can't help but think that they are important insofar that they teach us the deeper wisdom of life, such as impermanence, letting go of the self, surrender, loyalty,and so on. If I take my position at work as an example, I can either see the purpose of work as to fulfill that particular duty "perfectly" (and thus getting a plaque on the wall beside me!), another way of looking at it is that work is the application and revealing of deeper wisdom. Not only do I finish a task, but I also learn that tasks are not to be clung to: they do change over time, just as the waves do.
   If I am not able to see my responsibilities and roles as "revealing" wisdom, I get caught in the trap of identifying myself with them, not realizing that even the risk of losing such roles and privileges is also a teaching in itself on suffering. Without the ability to stay in one place and to be securely in a job, I could not learn insecurity and the losses that are inevitable. I only see "doing well" as beautiful and valuable, rather than seeing the cracks in my knowledge as equally valuable. It's what I don't know or cannot know or fully realize that reveals the vastness of all that there is.
   The interesting thing about one's responsibilities is that it is not exactly a predictable response. Think about it in this way: responsibility comes from the word "to respond", but we often take responsibility in the opposite way, as a kind of predictable set of instructions. Responsibility is more akin to responding to the changing moment, not a kind of fixed set of directions. To truly take responsibility requires a kind of loosening of one's tendency to react or to "follow orders"; it takes an insight that there are no perfect arrangements and that we work best when we are not welded to preconceptions.

Same Day, Different Views

   After the guided meditation session this morning, a thought came to my mind that this is the last weekend until school starts, and many students are preparing for the back to school grind. I shared with the others that while some people are starting to worry about the rush hour traffic with back to school, others (particularly parents) are rejoicing in the coming year without their kids being at home all day. It's interesting that the very same day (back to school) can mean very different things to different people, depending on the situation and conditions of the looker. If one is truly practicing equanimity, then they will see that no situation is absolutely good or absolutely bad. Everything contains a hidden opportunity, even when at first, it seems to be a loss of some kind.
   Impermanence always feels a little bit daunting. Even on this past Thursday during the sharing, the question was raised, "is there any sense of security in this world?" When a person's mind is agitated and they are not living in the moment, their minds will cling to some idea or thing that they can call enduring or "secure", only to find themselves ruminating and fretting over the idea of what can be secure. In fact, people spend more time worrying about what they can hold onto than enjoying what is in this moment. But if one stops to think about it, change is the opportunity to see that everything has a good and a bad. One of the meditation leaders pointed out on Thursday that even losing a cherished position and role is an opportunity to grow and become something different. For example, the position I have held for many years might seem inseparable from me, but if I were to lose it, there would be a space open to do something else. This doesn't mean that I should recklessly squander what I have (since this would not be mindful), but it suggests that one can look at life in a way that one is not panicking about losing something. One does not, in other words, live in perpetual fear of what they might lose, but sees it more the way a steward might see the property they manage. While I don't own the property, I can enjoy and make the best of protecting it for others.
   Next time you feel anxious, you might ask yourself the question: what am I afraid of losing? Would I die if I lost it? Am I really "losing" after all, or is it just clinging to a fear of losing? And finally, would I be devastated if I were somehow rejected by others? These are the kinds of questions which touch upon impermanence and one's relationship to it. If I can experience impermanence in its fullness, I am no longer afraid of dying, and nor am I afraid to live either.